


Making Cookies

by mimiccake



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Cooking, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 07:55:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29898009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimiccake/pseuds/mimiccake
Summary: Paul and Flake make cookies together, flirting and talking shit the whole time.
Relationships: Paul Landers/Christian Lorenz | Flake
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Making Cookies

Flake is halfway in the closet, consumed by scarves and mittens draped over hung-up winter coats. He’s pretty sure there’s a shelf in here, and the muffled sound of Paul’s doubt coming from the hallway only strengthens his desire to prove it.

“Ha, motherfucker!” Flake’s stifled voice crawls out from the mess. “Roasts, no. Salads? No thanks. Holiday treats, maybe. Oh!”

There is a pause from the closet as Paul’s eyes finally drift from Flake’s bony butt up to the small cookbook Flake thrusts out from the coats with vindictive energy.

“Cookies,” Flake announces.

“What can I say, Flake. I’m impressed. You know what’s in your own home,” Paul says sarcastically, arms crossed as he leans against a wall. A loving smirk is draped across his lips as he admires Flake’s look of self-satisfaction.

Paul knows how much Flake enjoys proving him wrong, and he gave him this one willingly, as a little treat for agreeing to Paul’s suggestion that they try cooking together. Flake was reluctant at first, not able to think of anything complicated enough to validate it as an activity while not being too complicated as to stress him out. If anyone is able to get Flake to change his mind, however, it’s Paul.

So here they are. Flake sweatily pulls himself from the consuming mass of clothes that has made its lair in this unassuming hallway closet, with obviously no help from his boyfriend, who just waits until Flake frees himself before giving a fun double thumbs-up. Flake hands over the bounty from his spelunking, and Paul does him another favor, fanning the thin book at Flake to cool him down.

“How sweet.” Flake smiles, giving Paul an almost-sarcastic look of love as he moves in to give him a hug and maybe even a kiss.

“Ew, get your sweaty butt away from me,” Paul reacts, scooting along the wall toward the kitchen.

“Paul,” Flake moans longingly, creeping after the fleeing boy.

Making his way into the small, cluttered kitchen, Paul looks around wildly, realizing it’s a dead-end. He turns back in a playful panic, clutching the cookbook to his chest and looks upon his pursuer.

“Nowhere to run now, huh?” gloats Flake.

“Please god, no. I’m too young to die. And handsome. Please no, I’m so handsome,” Paul pleads, a smile growing on his face as Flake reaches him and grabs around his waist. The two smile and embrace with a tender kiss, satisfied with their stupid little game.

Flake takes the book back from Paul and puts it on the counter, flipping through the pages. Paul walks up beside him and places a hand on Flake’s lower back. Flake points out a nice picture of some gingersnaps, looking to Paul with a look of delight. Paul returns a big smile, squinting his eyes. “Is that what we’re making? They seem kind of - I don’t know - basic. Like basic little shitty cookies,” Paul jokes, a lack of amusement evident on Flake’s face, who cocks an eyebrow, “they are shitty and I hate them.” Paul commits to the bit but keeps a smile as he lightly brings a fist down onto the counter. Paul growls in pretend anger.

“Excuse you, I like gingersnaps. They are not basic at all,” Flake responds with a mixture of sarcasm and truth. “But that isn’t what we are making today. You better have brought what I asked for, by the way, because today we are making--,” Flake flips a few pages, “--these.” He brings a finger down onto a picture of chocolate chip cookies on a blue plate. A tall glass of milk stands in the frame beside the plate.

“Oh fuck yeah. I mean, I probably could have assumed since you asked me to bring chocolate chips, but I’m still excited.”

“You better be. Because this is going to be awesome.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, we still have to make them. Plenty of time to fuck things up.” Paul gives another thumbs up. Flake purses his lips and looks down at the picture, nerves getting to him a bit. Paul sees the uncertainty growing in Flake, a doubt that can easily overtake Flake at times. “Hey, fucking up is just as fun,” Paul presses, getting Flake’s attention again and earning his gaze. “This will be great!”

Flake sighs, looking over the list of ingredients and instructions, trying to fully understand the process before he can even start to move. Paul lets him do what he needs to do as he begins gathering ingredients. He’s made cookies before and knows the basic ingredients all cookie recipes need.

“Ok so first--” Flake begins.

“You do the dry ingredients and I’ll do the  _ wet _ ,” Paul emphasizes, giving Flake a flirty wink. The younger boy is still unamused. He nods and grabs two large bowls, handing one to Paul.

“You mix the baking soda, salt, and flour,” Paul instructs, “and I’ve got the sugars, butter, and eggs.”

He measures his ingredients quickly but thoroughly, experienced with the results of poorly-proportioned baking. The butter is still cold so it’s taking him longer than expected to cream it with the white and brown sugars.

“You done yet?” asks Flake.

“Huh? You’re done already?”

“It was a couple things in a bowl?”

“And you measured it all correctly?” Paul continues his questioning.

“Yeah, Paul. I used the little cups with the numbers. I’m not a child.”

“I know,” Paul says in a higher pitch, “you’re a big boy and I love you.” He leans toward Flake and boops him on the nose. Flake can’t help but crack a little smile at the stupid gesture, it’s too cute. “You’ve earned egg-cracking duty.” Paul finishes mixing the butter and sugars and makes room for his assistant. Flake tries to gingerly crack an egg on the side of the bowl. On the third hit, the shell breaks, spilling a bit of yoke. He furrows his brow, focusing on opening the egg and dumping the contents into the mixture.

“Are you sure you’ve never done this? You’re a professional,” Paul says, rubbing Flake’s back in support. “The shell bits are crunchy but not tasty,” Paul continues, plucking out bits of eggshell from the mixture, “so we will leave these out this time. Let’s try something more advanced. Or at least cooler looking.”

Paul grabs Flake another egg and instructs him on how to crack and open it with one hand. Flake has a look of concern, unsure why Paul is showing him something that seems unnecessarily complicated.

“Like this,” Paul says, repeating motions as he mimes cracking an egg open with one hand. His mouth is open in a smile and his eyebrows are raised, suggesting what he’s doing is supposed to help Flake understand. Flake stares at Paul’s guiding movements, unimpressed.

“Yeah, that really helps. Thank you so much,” Flake says before cracking the egg again on the edge of the bowl, more yoke spilling down the side this time.

Paul cringes a bit at the heavy-handedness, followed by an urge to help Flake as he watches him struggle. Flake nervously coordinates his fingers to part the halves of the egg until the insides are deposited into the bowl.

“You fucking did it!” Paul praises, grabbing Flake’s shoulders from behind. Flake tosses the shell into the trash next to him and wipes the remnants off of his hands on a towel. He tilts his head down away from his proud boyfriend, who is still shaking him in approval, and smiles to himself.

Paul stops and wraps his arms around Flake’s sides, pressing his face into the taller boy’s shoulder. Paul calms himself for a moment, connecting with Flake and taking a breath. He feels warm just from Flake’s scent, and serenity washes over him in the moment, almost overwhelming.

“I love you,” Paul says out of nowhere, looking up to search for Flake’s eyes. He finds them and they look back, somewhat hesitantly, as Flake is caught off-guard by the moment. Sudden. Real. Loving.

Flake almost forgets to respond, “I-I love you, too.” Flake feels the warmth of Paul’s comfortability fuse into him as the two enjoy the brief respite. Paul stretches up on his toes to plant a small kiss on Flake’s cheek.

“Ok, out of the way. Your boy has to get to mixing,” Paul says, nudging Flake over.

“Fuck you,  _ your _ boy is going to mix,” Flake asserts, grabbing the spoon. He begins mixing the eggs into the rest of the wet ingredients. “I’ll start adding the dry stuff and we should be almost done. You have the chocolate, right?”

Paul hunches over and looks around, pretending to be nervous. “It’s time to bring out the goods? Are you sure it’s safe?”

“I swear, Paul, if you take your dick out right now…”

Paul giggles, surprised by Flake’s boldness. He composes himself for a retort. “Don’t tempt me, babe.”

“Don’t tempt  _ me _ . Get the stuff.”

“Okay! Fuck!” Paul responds, feigning agitation. He goes over to his bag left on the dining room table. He makes sure he is out of Flake’s sight, grabbing the small bag of chocolate chips as well as a small gift for Flake.

He hides the latter behind his back as he returns to the kitchen and puts the chocolate on the counter next to the other ingredients.

“I, uh, got you something.”

“I see that. You aren’t slick,” Flake says, giving Paul a teasing look of love.

Paul steps behind Flake, pulling out an apron and fixing it around Flake’s waist.

“What do you think? A fair reward for your first foray in the kitchen.”

Flake pushes the bowl of dough away to admire the apron, seeing that it says “Kiss the Cook” on the front. His first thought is about how tacky it is, but it’s quickly knocked out of his head by the joy of Paul’s cute little gesture of support. Paul’s hands on him again are a plus as well.

Flake turns and says, “well? How do I look?”

“Like a kiss I want to cook,” Paul responds distractedly, out of sorts by the cute sight of his boyfriend.

“Get to it,” Flake says, pointing to the apron with both hands, unaware that he is also gesturing to his crotch. That’s enough for Paul’s dirty mind.

“Here? Now? Flake, how bold.”

Flake rolls his eyes, turning back to the counter. He grabs the back of chocolate, preparing to finish the cookie dough.

Paul snuggles up behind Flake again, whispering, “you know, I had to resist the urge to change the second ‘o’ to a ‘c’ when I saw it in the shop.”

“Not surprising at all.”

Flake turns his head to look into Paul’s eyes, smiling and shaking his head. Paul gives him a big grin, squinting his eyes again. He reaches up to cup Flake’s cheek. The two embrace for a long kiss. Paul’s hand creeps slowly down to Flake’s neck, his pinky teasing under the collar of Flake’s shirt.

“Let’s hurry and get these cookies in the oven, then have some fun while we wait.”   
  



End file.
